


The Ghost of You

by freiheitfuehlen



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freiheitfuehlen/pseuds/freiheitfuehlen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is about Miles, about how he feels and what he thinks after he leaves Rachel at the airport. // (2x09)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost of You

_I don't believe you._

 

She haunts him all the way to Iraq and even over the desert winds Miles can hear her pleading voice. He closes his eyes and he sees tears running down her rosy cheeks. She haunts him and Miles doesn't know how to make it stop – how to scrub her scent off his skin.

 

_I don't love you._

 

Thou shalt not bear false witness, the priest had once said when he was only eight years old. Miles isn't a religious man – never was, but he felt his veins constrict as he spoke the words a week ago. You shall not lie, Miles chuckles despite the situation, despite the war he is fighting in that he only marginally believes in. Lying, Miles knows, doesn't rank on his list of fuck-ups. Not even close.

 

Miles loves her and he knows that Rachel knows it, too. He never said it and neither did she. Maybe, Miles thinks for the briefest of moments, it would have been different if she had said I love you that day at the airport, but deep down Miles knows it wouldn't have mattered at all. He never thought he was worthy enough of her love, anyone's love, to be honest. So he didn't hand her the matches to burn down the life she had with Ben. He wouldn't have forgiven himself - or her, for that matter. 

 

For a second he feels proud, feels like finally he's done something right, rather than constantly being a fucking disappointment to everyone in his family. 

 

He closes his eyes, trying to catch some sleep before the sirens go off again. He sees her then, even with eyes closed. He thinks about the first time they met, at the Emerson barbeque. He remembers her shy smile, the sound of her laugh and how her golden hair fell down her shoulders in soft curls. He was playing the guitar – Bette Davis Eyes to serve a cliche perfectly, he smirks. It wasn't love at first sight, Miles knows. He doesn't believe in that kind of romantic phantasy. He was attracted to her from the moment he lay eyes on her, but Miles knows, that's not love – despite knowing nothing about fucking love, he adds to that train of thoughts.

 

Love came later. Love came after inappropriate kisses, indecent exposures and forbiden orgasms. Miles can't say when exactly love came, but something shifted sometime between his first and second tour, and he's been reeling from that ever since.

 

Their love didn't stand a chance then, Miles knows. _Fuck_... , he knows that so well. So he told her to marry his brother, watched the sweet smile fall from her lips for a moment before she nodded her head, understanding. He undressed her at her wedding, both mentally and physically. She was wearing a white dress when she moaned and sighed his name while he was making her come with his tongue on her clit.

 

It was love then (when she got married to Ben), Miles knows, but it didn't matter. 

 

It doesn't matter now either. So he gets up without sleeping at all and takes a long, cold shower, trying fruitlessly to wash her away again. Maybe, Miles hopes, maybe he'll be able to wash her off his skin one day.


End file.
